Child of Music
by Hymn Angelic
Summary: ALW 2004 Erik discovers a young girl in the lobby of the abandoned Opera. As her life progresses he finds joy he never thought possible in parenthood
1. Chapter 1

Child of Music

Part 1

Author's Note: I have always thought writing serious Phanfic was a little stupid, and that nothing could ever match the wonder of the real story. But this idea refused to leave my mind. If you find any inaccuracies, or have any kind of comment or criticism, please review.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or places from 'The Phantom of the Opera'.

**He had been called many strange things in his lifetime.** Phantom, Opera Ghost. Devil's Child, Spawn of Satan. Even Angel. But he had never believed he was anything more than a mortal man. But now, that belief seemed suspect. The years passed, he knew, but he changed little. He wasn't sure of how much time had gone by since the Opera Populaire was closed for good. But he sensed the passage of the years acutely enough to know he should have looked significantly older than he did.

Erik sighed and turned away from the mannequin he had painstakingly created to perfectly capture Christine. When he had heard the news of her death, it broke his heart all over again. Even if she was not with him, it had given him some happiness to know that she was still living and laughing somewhere. But even that small comfort was gone now. She was dead. He had left her one final rose, returning her ring to her. Though he would have dearly liked to keep it, what use did he have for such a thing? It seemed the right thing to do.

Striding over to his organ, he ran his fingers lightly over the now dusty keys. The spark to compose had blown out when Christine left. Was it really true he had not played since the day she left? His fingers ached to go through the familiar patterns he had created on this organ, but he resisted. It seemed sacrilegious. Christine was his joy, his inspiration. When they sang together, it was magic. They combined totally, voices and spirits as one. That would never happen again. He had no reason to make music.

A small whimper interrupted his reminiscing. He ignored it. It would not be the first time he heard sounds that did not exist outside his mind. But it was followed by another muffled cry, and then another. He rose from the bench, eyes narrowed. After all these years, all the stories, someone still dared to intrude in his domain. Why couldn't the world leave him to his misery?

He picked up his mask off one of the "heads" he had pilfered from the costumers and fitted it gently onto his face. That annoying little dancer girl had stolen one of his masks, but he had plenty in reserve. He would never be without something that could hide his face from the cruel world. Making his way along one of the rocky passages that would take him to the lobby of the Opera, he fumed. It wasn't enough that he had been forced beneath the ground and out of the world of humans; he was still being disturbed. Had he not send a perfectly clear message in the final days of the Opera Populaire that he was not to be trifled with?

He reached the lobby. It was filthy, full of dust and grime. It had been almost completely stripped of anything of value. That dreadful auction he had heard taking place above his dwelling. It was never enough for people, it seemed. It didn't matter how much they had, they always wanted to take more. It disgusted him.

He scanned the room for what or who had brought him out of the cavernous cellars, back into a world he had no wish to see again. Just when he had given up, another whimper, almost inaudible. He prowled slowly closer to where the sound seemed to have come from. There was a large beam on the ground where it had fallen from the ceiling. He peered over it and discovered something he had not expected.

He wasn't sure what he had thought he might find, but it was certainly not this. Not a small girl with reddish hair and pale cheeks, eyes half closed. Her leg was partially pinned by the massive piece of rotten wood. She wore a neat little dress which was becoming dirty lying in the filth of the abandoned opera house. Another choked sob escaped her lips as he watched in confusion.

She was lucky the entire beam hadn't fallen on top of her, he thought as he began to pry chunks of wood away from her. If it had, she would have been completely crushed, no chance of survival. But even this way, the fates did not seem to be smiling on her. She was so pale, he marveled as took a moment to feel her tiny cheek. He knew that by no means did he have a healthy looking complexion. But he had not seen the sun in countless years. Her lack of color had been caused entirely by her pain and illness. He wasn't sure why, but his heart was pounding very hard against his chest.

There was no reason for him to worry about this child he had never met. In fact, there was no reason for him to help her. So what if she died? It was only one less person who would grow up and torment him. But even as his mind reached this dire conclusion, his hands continued to frantically work at freeing her.

Finally, he succeeded in breaking off all that was holding her down. Bending down, he scooped her into his arms. She was so light. He knew he was very strong, but lifting this girl was no more than carrying a pillow from his bed. He was not an expert on children, but he knew enough to be sure that was not a good sign. Not even considering the implications of what he was doing, he started back down to his caverns.

Halfway on the trip, her eyes fluttered open. He would not have even noticed, except he felt a gentle brushing against his chest, and he looked down. Her bleary eyes met his and she reached a shaking hand up towards his mask. Reflexively, he drew his head back, out of her reach. Her arm fell limply back to her side. He cursed silently at himself. If she did not live…he didn't know what he would do. A tiny little slip of a thing that he had not even known existed until an hour ago had taken over his thoughts and heart. He _needed _her to survive. He was not sure why. But it really did not matter. What mattered was that he saved this girl from a very early death. And as they neared his subterranean home, subconsciously, he held her very close.


	2. Chapter 2

Child of Music

Part 2

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or places from 'The Phantom of the Opera'.

**Bright green eyes opened slowly.** The girl rose slowly into a sitting position, small hands gripping the beautiful scarlet blanket that had covered her. She looked around in confusion. She crawled to the base of the bed and gripped it for strength as she peered into the rest of the room.

"You shouldn't be up. You are too weak," Erik rose from the shadows at the side of the room. He forced his voice to be calm and cool, as though he had not been at her side for over a day, fretting like an old nursemaid. She looked at him for a moment, then began to fall back. He raced to the bed and caught her before she fell, laying her gently back on the bed and pulling the blankets up over her.

She fell asleep again in a matter of moments. Now that he was sure she was not likely to die at any moment, he took his time observing her. From her dress and the softness of her hair, it was obvious she was well-off, but not amazingly rich. He noticed a sparkle on her right wrist and gently, so he wouldn't wake her, removed what was causing it. A silver bracelet. The candles glinted off it in the relative darkness, making it shine and dazzle. He noticed some etching on the inside. Tilting it up so he could see clearly inside, he read it. "For Danielle." So that was her name.

With a tiny smile, he noticed that some of the color was returning to her cheeks. He slipped the bracelet back on and let his hand linger on hers for a moment. She was so warm. It had been so long since he felt the warmth of another human. Not to mention a young girl. He brushed a strand of hair away from her face. _Danielle_, he murmured her name in his mind. It suited her.

**"I'm hungry."** Erik turned in surprise to see Danielle looking mournfully up at him, his blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

"Oh?" He asked, mind still working furiously to process this turn of events. She was awake. She could speak. She needed food.

"Yes," she said matter-of-factly. She then climbed up next to him on the organ bench.

"I will see what I can get you," he told her, using the same formal tone as she was and he rose and walked back to his stores. The Opera had kept a large amount of food in their storerooms, and he managed to salvage most of it before it burned. Usually he was content with only a bit of dry bread, but for Danielle…did children need something more? He finally settled on some salted pork.

He offered it to her, nervous, but she accepted it graciously and happily set about to eating it. He watched her eating with a strange satisfaction. When she had finished, he decided that there was no better time to start finding where she belonged. He had to take her back. He was not sure where, but he thought he could probably divine the correct location through what she might be able to tell him.

"Do you know where you came from?" He asked. It did no harm to try. She shook her head and he sighed inwardly. So much for the easy way.

"Do you remember your mother?" He tried again. Another head shake.

"What about-"

"The first thing I remember," she piped up, cutting him off, "is you, Papa."

Papa. His eyes widened and his heart skipped a beat. Papa. The word echoed through his mind. He never knew his own father. His mother he could barely remember; he had not lived with her very long before she had sold him to the gypsies. But of his father, he had no memory. Not even a silhouette or a voice. Papa.

He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he did not even notice Danielle moving until she had already wrapped her thin arms around his waist. He stared, dumbfounded, down at the top of her head as she squeezed him tightly. Slowly, not sure of himself but somehow feeling this was right, he rested his own arms against her back, pressing her closer. His gamble paid off as she sighed and looked up at him. A huge smile spread across her face.

"I love you, Papa." He bit his lip, trying to keep the tears from streaming out of his eyes. No one had ever loved him. He was ridiculed his entire life, and the only person he had ever loved did not love him in return. He thought that he was incapable of being loved. But this little girl, little Danielle, she loved him. She did not even know him, and yet she loved him.

"I…I love you too, Danielle."


	3. Chapter 3

Child of Music

Part 3

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or places from 'The Phantom of the Opera' or 'Amazing Grace'. I do own Danielle.

**"What is this, Papa?"** She held a fistful of paper up for him to see. It was some of the sheet music he had rescued from the flames.

"It's music."

"Oh." She sat silently for just a moment. "What do you do with music?"

"You play it."

"Oh," she scrutinized the page, turning it over in her hands. "How do you play music?" He smiled inwardly and took the sheet from her. 'Amazing Grace'. How fitting. Taking her hand, he led her over to the organ and lifted her onto the bench. It was getting harder and harder to lift her. A few years had passed since he had discovered the feather-light child, and he was very pleased with the progress the two of them had made. He then slid in next to her and set the sheet where he could see it. He arched his fingers and rested them on the cool keys, taking a deep breath. Would it still sound the same? What if he had lost his talent?

All his fears were laid to rest as he began to play for the first time in years. He was a tad rusty, but his hands were so conditioned to the familiar notes he was quickly able to regain his polish.

"Amazing grace, how sweet the sound. The hour, I first believed. I once was lost, but now am found. The hour, I first believed," he let his voice fade quickly and turned to smile at her. "That is music."

"Oh. I like music." Smile widening, he put his arm around her shoulders and hugged her close.

"That's my girl."

**Erik sat silently at the edge of the water.** So much had changed since Danielle came. His life held meaning again, he had someone to live for. She was such a ray of sunshine, brightening his gloom. But he had no illusions as to what would happen if she saw his true face. She had never asked about his mask, or even seemed to notice it. Not since that first day when he had carried her to his home. If she saw what he hid…everything would come crashing down on his head.

"Amazing grace, how sweet the sound." His ears perked to the sound of singing. He turned, slowly, hardly daring to believe. But it was true. Danielle sat on large rock, stroking the hair of a doll that had formerly been part of his opera house diorama. And she was singing. "The hour I first believed. I once was lost, but not am found. The hour I first believed." Her voice was not a pure, clear soprano like Christine's had been. Rather, even at this young age, he could tell it would develop into a rich alto.

"Are you singing, Danielle?" He had to ask, just to be sure. She looked up and smiled at him.

"Yes. I like the music."

"That's not the only kind, you know. That's only one song."

"Really?" Her eyes brightened and she asked the one thing he had hoped and prayed she someday would. "Will you teach me more music, Papa?"

**Danielle lay asleep in the swan-shaped bed.** She held a pillow close to her and sighed sleepily. Erik watched over her. He hadn't been able to break the habit since she had been so sick. It scared him, remembering how labored her breathing had been, how glassy her lively little eyes. It was so strange. He had never felt this way about anyone. Even with Christine, he had been…possessive. But not protective. He had wanted the best for her, but it was more so he could see his visions come to life than for her own good. Danielle he wanted to be happy just because it thrilled him each and every time she smiled or glanced his way. So this was what it was like to be a father. He had never dreamed that he would ever feel the amazing bond between a father and his daughter.

His beloved daughter snored gently and rolled over. He smiled silently and felt his own eyelids drooping. Rising, he walked over and lay down slowly on the bed, so he wouldn't disturb her. Somehow sensing his presence, Danielle scooted closer to him, allowing him to fold his arms around her. His breathing slowed until the two were completely in harmony. Most people, even a father and daughter, would be unable to achieve such perfect closeness and let it still remain pure and chaste. There was nothing sexual in their complete touch…they had both been hurt and alone. They needed to know, all through the night, someone was there by their side.

Erik smiled as he drifted slowly towards sleep. Then, a strange beat rang through his head. It was followed by another, and another. A melody in his mind, he could feel the powerful chords in his heart. His eyes snapped open again and his breath caught in his throat. Was it true? Could it be true? It was. It had taken a lengthy intermission…but the Music of the Night had begun again.


	4. Chapter 4

Child of Music

Part 4

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or locations from 'The Phantom of the Opera'

Author's Note: I would just like to point out that Erik's dialogue may seem somewhat OOC this chapter, but I do think that he would develop a different style and tone while dealing with Danielle than we've seen before.

REMINDER: There is absolutely, 100 -ZERO- romance between Erik and Danielle.

**Danielle stepped softly through the passage.** She had always been light on her feet…'ma petite belle' Erik had called her. However, she was not so little anymore. Now in her teens, she was much more adventurous. And sneaky. Since the two no longer shared the swan-bed, she reasoned that she would be able to return to sleep without her father ever noticing she had left. He would still be sleeping, none the wiser to the fact that she had escaped from the underground caverns.

**"Your scales,"** Erik directed. Danielle complied, letting her voice ring out through the cave and the relief flood through her. She had been successful in sneaking back to bed before he had awoken.

"I had a very strange dream last night, ma belle," he began as she sang. Her stomach lurched but she did not let her note falter. _Keep calm_, she murmured to herself, _don't react_. When she did not respond, he continued. "In it, instead of the beautiful, sweet little girl I have now, I had a vicious, cruel little girl who knowingly ignored her father's clear wishes. Isn't it a good thing it was only a dream?"

Danielle squeezed her eyes shut. She stopped singing. She was caught.

"Papa, I-" she began, but he did not let her finish.

"I believe I have made it very clear to you what behavior is unacceptable to me, have I not?" She did not answer. "Have I not, Danielle?"

"You have," she whispered, head down.

"And I was under the impression that you understood my wishes." She bit her lip, gathering her courage and looked up.

"Papa, I only thought-" Once again, she did not get far. The frustration that had been building throughout the night exploded forth from Erik.

"What? What was it that you thought, Danielle? What could you possibly have thought you would accomplish from going up _there_?" He spat out the final word as though it were a vile curse. Stung by his sharp words, Danielle found she too could no longer hold back her own anger.

"I don't know. Does it matter? I wanted to see the sky. I wanted to breathe fresh air. I wanted to get out this filthy-"

"Surely you dare not," he hissed at her, "you do not dare insult how hard I have worked to keep you safe-"

"From what! Grass? Sunlight? Birds? Those are all very dire. This is the life that you chose. Not me."

Instantly, his face fell and he slumped as though she had physically wounded him. Danielle felt her explosive anger melting away and her heart softening.

"Papa, I'm sorry. My temper," she trailed off and smiled sheepishly at him. "I didn't mean-"

"You did." He said softly. She couldn't argue. They sat in heavy silence for a few minutes before Erik began to speak. "Danielle…I know you don't understand why I feel the way I do, but the world up there can be a terrible place. I'm frightened for you." He looked up and gave her a tiny half smile, "Can you forgive me that crime?" She laughed shortly and looked up.

"I didn't mean to shout."

"Nor did I," he said woefully, "our tempers do seem to get the better of us, don't they?" She nodded and sighed. The silence was more gentle now. Erik took a deep breath. The weighty implications of what he was about to say had been pressing against his mind for quite some time. But he had thought it over. And over, and over again. It was inevitable, and he would rather it come on his own terms. "If you want to see the world, Danielle…at least let me be there to watch over you."

Her head snapped up in surprise, she doubted what she had heard. Was he serious? Could he truly mean what she thought he meant?

"Papa?" She asked tentatively, allowing all her questions to pour into that one word. He fidgeted with his fingers for a moment, then looked up and smiled. "Oh, Papa!" She ran forward and threw her arms around him, as she had done when she was small. He held her tight and allowed his smile to broaden significantly.

**"I remember,"** Erik let his hand trail in the water, "the last time I went to a masquerade." It was not a pleasant memory, but he allowed a small, nostalgic smile to cross his face for Danielle's benefit. After some research, well, "eavesdropping" was a more appropriate term, Erik had decided on a masquerade being held in a local garden to be Danielle's first appearance in the world above.

"Really? Was it lovely? Was it romantic? Was it-" she looked down at her hands suddenly, working up the courage for her next question, "was it with Mama?"

"What?" That caught him completely off guard. Had she remembered something? Did she know? He had been searching constantly for the precise moment to tell her that he was not truly her father, but it had been difficult. What was the proper etiquette for that sort of announcement? But now, if she remembered her mother…he would lose her. He had no choice but to return her to her proper parents.

"I saw," her eyes had now slid to her feet, "I saw the mannequin…" His heart lurched.

"You saw that?" He could barely choke out the words. He meant to get rid of it, but he found he simply couldn't. It was a sort-of shrine to Christine. No matter how many years went by, she would never leave his heart. But now that it had been revealed to his precious Danielle…it seemed sick and twisted.

"I didn't mean to, I was just, I only…" she could not explain so she changed tactics, "Did she love the opera?" The breath he had only been moderately aware he was holding released. She was not disgusted, or frightened. Only curious.

"She loved it very much. She was a singer."

"A singer," her voice was dreamy. "What was her name?"  
"Christine."

"And," she became shy again, "did you love her?" Erik regarded his daughter before staring out into the darkness.

"Yes. Very much. In fact, I thought I would never love anything more in the entire world," he glanced back toward her, "but then I met you."

"Oh, Papa!" She laughed and bumped him gently. He smiled to himself and turned his gaze back out. He let his shoulders relax.

"There's something I want to show you," he said suddenly. He stood quickly and held out a gloved hand to help her to her feet.

"What is it, Papa?" She asked, a curious smile on her face as she followed him. He strode through winding passages, Danielle close behind. Finally, he entered a room. It was full of old costumes he had taken from the dressing rooms. He had no use for them, but it had seemed a shame to let all the fine craftsmanship go to waste. He led to the back of the room and finally stopped.

"This is the dress Christine wore during her first performance." Danielle gasped and held out a tentative hand, almost frightened to touch it.

"Oh, it's beautiful, Papa. She must have looked gorgeous in it!"

"She did," he ran his hand over the white sleeve, "She truly did. I want you to wear it. For your first masquerade."

"What? Oh, Papa, I couldn't! Not a dress like this…I'd ruin it."

"You'll be spectacular," he coaxed gently, the shimmer in her eyes betraying her true wishes.


	5. Chapter 5

Child of Music

Part 5

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters from 'The Phantom of the Opera'. I do own Danielle and a few more .

Author's Note: Very sorry about the long delay for last chapter. My computer went kablooey, and I just finished transferring all my old files onto my new system. Thanks as always for all your support!

**The candles made the beads on Danielle's dress and mask glitter.** She spun around, twirled by her father/dance partner, feeling almost light-headed with happiness. The rest of the room spun with her, and it was magic. For one night, she was a princess. She didn't live in an underground grotto. She wasn't a newcomer to this world of light and noise. She was just Danielle. And she could dance.

Erik smiled slightly at the dreamy look on his beloved's face and held her tightly. He had opted for the same costume and mask he had worn during his ill-fated _Don Juan Triumphant_. It reminded him of terrible times, but it seemed as though it would blend in the best with the other men here. The outfit he had worn for the actual masquerade at the Opera Populaire would draw far too much attention to him. And, when Danielle was getting dressed, he had slipped a real sword into the scabbard at his side. Just in case.

He hadn't been this close to so many people in ages. He felt extremely self-conscious and crowded. It was only his desire to make Danielle happy that let him refrain from racing out of the room at any given moment. He dearly would have like to do so. But he had to endure this. Erik had promised his baby girl a look at the world. And he would help her get it.

A light tap on Danielle's shoulder startled her so much she physically jumped. She turned her head to see a tall man with sandy blonde hair wearing a navy-blue mask and suit offering her his hand.

"May I cut in?" He asked, a small smile twisting his lips.

"Well-" She glanced back to get confirmation from Erik, but he had already let go of her and was sinking into the background. With no excuse, she took the newcomer's hand, though she stood on tiptoe to look over his shoulder and see where her father had gone. She watched as he reached a shadow on the wall and slowly melted away. She sighed in exasperation.

"I'm sorry," her partner said as she turned back to him, looking slightly offended. "I just couldn't resist. You looked so happy. I didn't mean to separate you from your beau."

"My what?" She arched her eyebrows, trying to comprehend what he was saying. He couldn't mean…he did. A short burst of laughter escaped her lips. He frowned.

"You don't have to laugh at me," he said, sounding sullen. "I didn't know you were so attached to-"

"He's my father," she told him.

"Oh." A pink tinge rose quickly in his cheeks. "I didn't-"

"If you had given me a chance to speak I would have-"

"I already apologized, mademoiselle. If you are still determined to antagonize me, then-"

"So I'm antagonizing you? I must say, good monsieur, that I believe you were the one antagonizing-"

"You foolish little-"  
"Excuse me!"

"You are excused," he snapped. They stopped and dropped hands as though each was afraid of being burned. They stood in the middle of the floor, obstructing other couples and glaring at each until a new voice broke in.

"Pardon me," an accented man said, "But I was simply wondering if I might steal a dance with this marvelously attractive creature?" Danielle blushed rosily and opened her mouth but her former partner cut her off.

"My feet hurt, Diego, so I'm afraid I'm not up for another dance. But you're welcome to this, this," his vocabulary failed him, but it was unclear whether it was in finding a word worthy of describing what Danielle was or in finding a word he was willing to say about a lady in public. "Just take her."

He did. Danielle began dancing with her new partner. He had dark curls and tanned skin, as well as full, expressive lips that smiled from beneath a scarlet mask.

"I hope it is not too bold to say," _Spanish,_ she thought to herself, placing his accent. "but you did not look as though you enjoyed your dance with Luc."

"No," she said, scowling at the memory of the rude man, "I did not."

"Please, do not be angry with him. He does not mean to offend but," he shrugged, "Luc is not the most skilled with people."

"Obviously," she said bitterly. Diego fell silent and she sighed. "I'm sorry. Let's not speak of him."

"If I may say so, you look very lovely tonight."

"Thank you," she blushed prettily and looked down. When she brought her eyes back up, she allowed herself a glance around the room. Erik had disappeared, but she saw Luc dancing with a very short young woman with sleek, chocolate colored hair. "I see your friend has found a new partner."

Diego glanced over and shrugged as though they did not interest him in the slightest. "It is only Amélie."

"Is she his-"

"Oh, no. They are only friends."

"Good evening," Amélie and Luc had waltzed up to them and she smiled up at Danielle with pure, open friendliness. "I don't believe I've seen you around."

"You haven't," Danielle said, slightly unnerved as the other pair traveled in a circle around them.

"And what a shame that is," Luc commented pointedly. Danielle came very near to sticking her tongue out at him, but realized it would probably make both Diego and Amélie think of her as exceedingly immature. And she wanted badly to make a good impression. So she held in her childish impulses, and after a bit of small talk, she and Diego were alone again.

"Where have you been hiding all this time?" Diego asked with a wry smile.

"The Opera Populaire," she said.

"You live in that neighborhood? I did not know it was still-"

"No. I live in the Opera Populaire." Diego's brow furrowed.

"Inside? But how?" Danielle shrugged. She had never thought about it before. It never seemed important. Diego looked on in confusion for a few moments before laughing heartily.

"You are too much, querida, too much." He pulled her closer and immediately she felt a burning on the back of her neck. At first she thought it was a result of the sudden closeness, but she quickly realized the real source. She sighed.

"Papa is not very happy with you."

"How can you tell?"  
"Don't you feel it?" Erik's eyes burned into her back, and she could feel every ounce of his disapproval. She looked down, embarrassed. .When he didn't respond, she looked back up. He was watching her with soft eyes.

"I thought it was just you," he murmured, causing her to blush once again, and her heart to soar.

She would have been happy dancing here with him for hours, if not forever, but it was not to be. A firm, gloved hand fastened on her shoulder and she looked up into the obviously displeased face of Erik.

"We are leaving," he said, voice cold, eyes flickering with what could soon become open animosity. Danielle was not about to let that happen.

"Thank you for the dance," she said, curtsying formally to her partner. It was out of the ordinary, especially for her, but the dress made her feel elegant and regal. Diego smiled amusedly at her curtsy, and followed suit with a deep bow.

"The pleasure was all mine, señorita…" he trailed off expectantly. Erik was already pulling her backwards, away from him, away from the room.

"Danielle," she called to him, before Erik turned her around and put a protective arm around her shoulder, effectively boxing out anyone else.

"Danielle of the Opera Populaire," Diego whispered to himself.

"I wouldn't." Luc had handed Amélie off to another admirer and now came to stand beside Diego, folding his arms across his chest, watching Danielle and Erik disappear through the crowd.

"Why ever not?" the Spanish boy had a smile beginning to twist the edges of his mouth. Luc looked over at him and shook his head in disgust.

"I just wouldn't."


End file.
